The Ghost Makers

Chapter I — The Laugh of a Ghost

"I am Little Flower!"

A thin, piping voice was babbling amid the eerie darkness. As the shrill tones ended, a spectral silence prevailed.

"I am Little Flower!"

The repeated cry was like a weird echo of the first ghostly call. Then, when the call was no longer uttered, a low, quavering question came from among the sitters in the darkened circle. "Have you a message for me?"

It was a woman who made the query. Her tone was one that denoted a sincere believer. The listeners waited. The voice of Little Flower broke the gloom.

"I have message from J.H.," it said. "He wish to speak to some one that is here. Some one he cannot see. Someone who love him on the earthly plane. He say he is J.H. He say the one who love him will know—"

"I recognize J.H.," came the woman's voice. "I am the one to whom he would speak. Please, Little Flower, please bring me his message—"

The beseeching voice ended with a choking sob. The woman in the circle could speak no more. She was overcome with emotion.

The tenseness of the group continued. The low sobbing of the woman who had spoken was the only sign that people were in this darkened room — waiting— listening.

"He say he will try to speak," babbled Little Flower. "He say he will try, because she wish. He say he feel that she is worry. That she need him to tell—"

"I do need him, Little Flower," pleaded the woman. "Tell him that since he went to the spirit world I have been alone. I need his advice."

"He is talking now," piped Little Flower. "He tell me more now. He say his name is J — J — it is like John, he say—"

"That is right, Little Flower!" exclaimed the woman. "He has told you right. Oh, my dear Jonathan! He knew so much about the world — he was so successful — and now, without him to tell me what to do—"

"He see your trouble," pattered Little Flower. "He say his name is Jonathan. He see you worry about the money that you have. You are afraid you are not wise—"

"Jonathan knows!" bemoaned the woman. "He is speaking from the dead — from the spirit plane. Tell him that I sold — that I did what he advised — but that now—"

The speaker paused, for the voice of Little Flower was commencing to talk again.

"Jonathan he speak to me," came the shrill utterance. "He say he understand. He tell you all through me. He say you do well to sell the stock he say to sell."

"That is true, Little Flower!" gasped the sitter. "Only Jonathan could know about it. Speak to him again, Little Flower. I know it is my Jonathan!"

"He say that you have sold, but you worry about how to buy. You are afraid without him to tell. You wish to know what you must buy to be sure."

"That is true! That is true!" the woman exclaimed.

"He is on the spirit plane," continued Little Flower's voice, "but he can see earthly plane, too. He see something that you must buy.

"Yes, he tell me you must buy. It will make you have much money. Very much money, he say. It is a long name — too long for Little Flower to remember. She cannot understand such big word."

"Please, Little Flower! Please try to understand!"

"Little Flower she cannot say big words. But he say letters. Listen, while Little Flower try to say the letters: C-O-R-N-A-D-O—"

"Coronado!"

"That is what he say — the same word John — Jonathan, he say. There is one more word. It start like the first. Little Flower cannot say. She try to spell again: C-O-P—"

The piping voice broke and seemed confused. It became babbling and incoherent; then the spelling recommenced, laboriously, letter by letter:

"C-O-P-P—"

"Copper!" gasped the eager woman. "Coronado Copper. Is that what he told you, Little Flower?"

"That is what he say. What you say. The same funny big words, that Little Flower find too big to say. Jon-a-than — he say you must buy it quick. It must be quick — before it come too late—"

"Ask him how much to buy, Little Flower!" exclaimed the woman breathlessly. "How much!"

"I talk to him. Wait. He has hear. Through the ear of Little Flower, he has hear. I tell what he say." The piping voice became still. There was a long, breathless pause. Then an incoherent jabber of the shrill voice, and words that were meaningless. Finally, the tones of Little Flower:

"He is say one — one something — one — some-thing — some funny number, he say—" AS the voice dwindled, and the breathlessness increased, a new sound pervaded the seance room. It seemed to begin from nowhere, and grow to a terrifying crescendo.

It was the sound of an uncanny, mirthless laugh. A whispered laugh, it lost its eerie shudder and rose to a loud, mocking peal that drowned the babbling of Little Flower.

Sharp gasps came from the members of the circle. The linked hands of the sitters trembled. That laugh had sounded like a dooming knell uttered by some fierce power of another world!

The laugh died away; then came a low reverberation, as though the tones had echoed back from space itself.

A creepy chilling silence followed. Then, Little Flower's babble resumed, incoherent and tremulous, no longer certain!

"John — Jon-a-than — he try to say — he try to say — one — one-"

With terrifying suddenness, that awful laugh again burst through the darkness. Shorter, louder it sounded. It broke off in the midst of a weird peal; then, after a second's pause, the same tones were duplicated with less volume. A longer pause, and another mirthless peal. Then, after a heart-bursting wait, the uncanny gibe came as a sinister whisper from corridors of nothingness!

Little Flower's last babble did not return. There was a moaning from the medium at the head of the circle. A man's voice groaned.

"Lights! Lights! Turn on the lights!" came a tense whisper.

Some one complied. With the snap of the light switch, the room was flooded with illumination. A circle of a dozen sitters was revealed. Both men and women were in the group, and their faces were aghast. All eyes were centered toward the medium.

A sallow, nervous man, he lay slumped in his chair, with hands and feet bound as they had been arranged at the beginning of the seance.

A heavy, hard-faced individual arose from the circle and approached the medium. A woman joined him, and they managed to bring the medium from his trance. Still tied, he looked about, bewildered.

"Are you all right, Professor Jacques?" asked the man beside him. The medium stared blankly, then recognized the man who had come to his aid.

"Yes, my friend," he said. "Yes, Mr. Harvey. I am all right. A terrible dream came to me in my trance. Some dreadful, evil spirit seized my soul. It seemed to strike at my heart.

"I see you now, my friends. Ah — Mr. Castelle" — he was addressing a dignified, middle-aged man across the circle — "I am glad that you were here. You were a skeptic. Now, you have seen how evil spirits can act. Is it not terrible?"

Castelle nodded slowly. His face was as white and drawn as were the features of the others in that circle. The medium, gaining new control of himself, glanced from person to person.

"Ah" — he was speaking to a frightened, elderly woman — "it was you to whom Little Flower was speaking, was it not?"

"Yes, Professor Jacques."

"I am sorry that your message was interrupted. It was too bad, madam, that such should happen on your first visit to my seance room. It is dangerous, sometimes, for me to gain messages for those who have never been here before. Some evil is present tonight!"

He paused, as his eye, moving farther around the circle, rested on a tall, hawk-faced man who was observing him with fixed, unchanging gaze. A frown appeared upon the forehead of Professor Jacques. There was something about this silent individual that made the medium suspicious. The hawk-faced man, alone of all those in the room, appeared unperturbed. His hands, long and slender, were resting on his knees. His face was as firm as a stone chiseled countenance.

Professor Jacques was unable to meet those stern, unyielding eyes. The medium looked again at the hands.

Upon one finger, Jacques observed a strange, mysterious gem, that glowed like an undying ember. Its deep-purple rays changed to vivid crimson. That stone had the sparkle of living fire. The medium fought against the fascination of that gem, and turned to the man beside him, the heavy-set man whom he had addressed as Mr. Harvey.

"I think I am all right, now," he said. "I am glad that you are here, Mr. Harvey. You and these others know and understand the dangers that confront a medium. I shall rely upon all my sincere believers" — he swung his head around the circle, dodging the gaze of the hawk-eyed man — "to see that no one in this group causes a disturbance.

"I shall try again to commune with Little Flower. But first, I shall seek the manifestation of a friendly spirit that will protect us all against the evil forces."

He nodded toward his bonds. The nearest sitters, now calm again, examined the knots to see that the medium was securely tied. The hawk-faced man did not move from his chair. He sat still, with his bold eyes directed straight toward the sallow medium.

"Join hands," ordered Professor Jacques. "The circle must be complete while I am within it. Will you, Mr. Harvey, turn out the lights and then join the circle? Thank you."

The final statement was made while Harvey was on the way to comply with the request. The lights went out, and the voice of Professor Jacques sounded solemnly in the darkness.

"My strength has returned," he said. "But before I again commune with Little Flower, I shall call upon Temujin, the powerful, friendly spirit, to stand beside me. Often has he been of aid. Coming from the spirit plane, he can strike mortals as well as evil spirits.

"Should any one leave this circle, I cannot be responsible for his safety. Hark!" — the medium's voice became a prolonged moan — "I can hear the whisper of Temujin. He is beside me. I feel his powerful presence—"

As the medium's voice became indistinguishable, a suppressed gasp went around the circle. Hovering in front of the medium's form appeared a phosphorescent dagger — a sinister weapon wielded by an unseen hand!

"I feel Temujin's presence," came the medium's intonation. "It is above me — beside me — protecting me!

Let mortals beware. Let them beware! No force of evil can enter this room. Bound spirits of the other plane beware Temujin!"

The medium's voice became a groan. When that groaning ceased, all knew that the voice of Little Flower would manifest itself.

The threatening, luminous dagger made hands tremble in the circle. Yet its presence was welcome, for with it here, that unearthly mockery of before could not return.

The medium's groan was dying. The falsetto babble of Little Flower was wavering through the stillness. The phosphorescent dagger was almost motionless as it shimmered slightly before the medium's head.

"I am Little Flower—"

The babble ended as the chilling tones of a creeping mockery gathered through the room. It seemed as though some unseen powers were gathering the vibrations of the air together, to hurl them into one tremendous taunt!

The rising sound increased above the subdued gasps of the sitters. It grew louder than the babble of Little Flower's voice. It burst like the crest of a mighty wave — a startling, mirthless cry of wild, outlandish laughter!

Chairs fell backward as sitters clambered to the floor. Screams came spontaneously from the lips of frightened women.

The phosphorescent dagger trembled as though the unseen hand that held it was startled by that reverberating cry. Then it flashed in a menacing swing, as though seeking a hidden enemy. As the dagger wavered, something shot out of the darkness and gripped an arm beside the swinging blade. A loud, harsh oath was uttered.

The dagger was whirling, trying to escape an unknown grasp, as though two mighty, invisible forces were locked in supernatural conflict!

Now came a vicious curse from another voice. The mocking laughter burst forth in quick staccato as the dagger rose high above the floor. Amid the laughter came the thud of a falling chair — wild curses — the fierce sounds of a human struggle in the darkness.

The phosphorescent dagger whirled away in freedom. Striking from above, the blade swept downward like a dash of meteoric light. Its mission of vengeance ended as the blade was lost in thick darkness. A terrible scream came from beside the medium's chair. It sounded again, weakly, and ended in a hideous coughing gasp.

Something thudded heavily, and the glowing handle of the dagger reappeared, poised motionless, only a foot above the floor.

"Lights! Lights!" came the cry of the medium.

The frantic words were drowned with a new outburst of the demoniac laugh that had brought consternation to the room. From the walls and ceiling, impish echoes resounded in the blackness. A host of tiny tongues seemed to be pouring forth a message of sinister doom.

As the taunts died out, the lights came an. Castelle, white-faced, had reached the wall switch. The bright illumination revealed a startling scene.

The sitters were scattered about the room all in spots where they had fled for safety. Overturned chairs bore witness to their mad scramble from the seance circle.

The medium, his sallow face now a reddish purple, was struggling with the ropes that bound him. Amazing though these sights were, they could not compare with the sight in the center of the room. There lay the body of Herbert Harvey, face upward — the handle of a dagger projecting from a spot above the heart!

The man was dead — slain by that mysterious dagger, which no longer shone with phosphorescent light!

While astounded eyes gazed upon the horrible sight, fascinated by the pool of blood that gushed from the slain form, a weird, uncanny echo sounded from an unknown spot.

It was the last response of the strange mockery that had preceded this frightful scene! No one knew from whence it came. In the midst of that eerie sound, the medium's bulging eyes swept everywhere. His struggle stopped as he sought the source of those jeering tones.

He could see no one laughing. Only wild, white faces were in view. They were faces of the startled sitters. As before, these people were obsessed by fear.

From face to face, the medium glared, forgetful of the dead man on the floor, seeking only that hawklike visage that he feared.

But the search was in vain. The man with the firm, unyielding eyes was gone. All that remained to tell of his strange presence was the memory of a weird, sardonic laugh. A laugh so horrible that no one could believe had come from human lips.

It was like the laugh of a ghost. A mockery so grotesque that only a being from another world could utter it. An unearthly tone that even the cringing, faking medium believed had come from spirit lips. Like the laugh of a ghost it had come; like a ghost, it had returned. A man had vanished with it, as though he, too, belonged in some unknown realm of the universe.

Yet that laugh, ghostly though it had seemed, had come from human lips.

It was the laugh of The Shadow!